Hypothetically, What If I a Born Again Atheist

Hypothetically, what if I (a born again atheist)... tentatively took page from playbook of devout believers... Allowing, enabling, and providing cautious optimism to abound thus easing grief instead reason to rejoice found once corpse cremated or buried underground. Whereby reincarnation will eventually... mitigate grief otherwise... mind numbing skull will experience shell shock twill forever stun unable to square circle defying reality analogous to accept flying nun (matter of fact) reunite each loved one, thus resisting automatic reflex against secularism just for fun. Bidding thy nonagenarian papa permanently farewell... tis no rhyme nor reason for me to cry inconsolably versus ruminating diametrically opposed outlook pray tell. How bittersweet mortality doth taste grievance especially unpalatable, when existence of Boyce Brandon Harris erased, whereby fading memories offer small consolation baste within the noggin of his sole sun twice orthodontically braced. I still remember, when ye shlepped me to Lancaster Cleft palate clinic (mother came along for the ride; plus she enjoyed stopping at Entenmann's Exton, Pennsylvania location) splurging for sweet tooth. Doctor Mazaheri (small statured) (a renown prosthodontist) fitted yours truly for speech appliance to rectify submucous cleft palate - a bony defect in the midline or center of the bony palate imparted nasal twang pronouncedly noticeably distinct mutation genetically bequeathed middle offspring born this way offering yet another defect whereupon token scapegoat opportunistically targeted by bullies. Twilight (zone) of your life metaphorical draws curtain call concomitantly ushering remembrance of things past. Recapitulation of most salient sunny events fondly recalled mostly boyhood circumstances many incorporating Lilliputian Matthew Scott Harris forever jinxed (think hoisted by his own petard) thus butt of jokes and laughingstock among madding crowd. Alas, methinks how robust, intimidating and indomitable dad appeared when yours truly a wee lad undersized even now as an elder statesman (ha) still the runt of rat pack (though this measly once upon a time miserly mousy man no pack rat) matter of fact downsizes personal trappings when I eventually make trek across River Styx. During interim (between now and then) hope springs eternal that suspended animation courtesy cryogenics will halt biological aging (particularly mine) preserving till end of time freeze frame where mise en scène retaining vestigial said countenance portraying boyish looking good (older) fella until peace on Earth and good will to all men/women prevails. I thaw (ought) how grand to donate and/or repurpose body as science fiction becomes reality, where mise en scene art becomes life cessation of senescence held in check once defunct corporeal edifices gentrified to instill longevity twerking, seeding, pollinating... *****sapiens fostering civilization to take root across solar system and beyond sphere where sunlight doth bathe bedlam.